We Do Not Deal in Thank You's
by 95Echelon
Summary: The Wrackspurt Council decides to have a meeting about Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament. Cheesecake is involved. Mr. Lovegood presides.


The Wrackspurt Council decides to have a meeting about Harry Potter and the Triwizard Tournament. Cheesecake is involved. Mr. Lovegood presides.

* * *

"Gooooood _morning_ , gentlefellows!" Mr. Lovegood bellows, like a perky, blonde, large-breasted host of an American morning show, from at the foot of the table.

(The table has smelly feet. But Mr. Lovegood has faced much worse. Mr. Lovegood is _married.)_

"If everyone will please settle down, the meeting can be started!"

"Nutter," buzzes Greg the wrack spurt, dive-bombing the smelly-footed table from the hatstand attached upside down to the ceiling, and gets his wings hopelessly bent. Hank and Jim and Cory giggle at him, and then also dive-bomb the table.

(The table sighs. But the table has faced much worse. The table is _married.)_

"Nutter! Nutternutternutter!" chorus the baby Wracks from the corner of the enormous conference room, punch-drunk on soda pop. Pale brown cola streaks the front of their robes and sticks to their pink-purple fuzz.

"We don't deal with good mornings, Mr. Lovegood," says the Eldest Wrackspurt, from the head of the table. HIs voice is deep and rumbling. It is a fine voice, an elder-ish sort of voice. The table rumbles happily. Greg and Hank and Jim and Cory untangle themselves and take their seats.

Mr. Lovegood wipes his sweaty brow somewhat nervously, the yellow-and-mauve checkered kerchief turning dark with perspiration. He frowns at it, and feeds it to the chair. The chair has a taste for linen.

"Yes, yes," Mr. Lovegood fidgets, straightening a crumpled copy of the Quibbler in front of him without much success. "My apologies."

The Wrinkled Wrack of the Eldest Variety 'Hmmmph's rather grandly at Mr. Lovegood, his bulging blue eyes narrowing into little blue slits of venomous suspicion, before tooting his horn to signal the beginning of the meeting, and saying, "Do we think Harry Potter is cute?"

Greg nods. Hank also nods.  
Jim chews on a straw and Cory sings lullabies to the table.

Greg nods even harder, and kicks Jim in a poor attempt at subtlety, but then Greg's nodding makes his head fall off and he flaps away to retrieve it, arms pinwheeling wildly.

Mr. Lovegood is appalled at the state of the meeting.

"Harry Potter is **_totally_** cute!" he yells, rather passionately, like a dad at a high school soccer match. He wishes he had a foam finger to beat over stupid Cory's stupid lullaby-singing head. The table snores softly. Mr. Lovegood needs to _save_ the meeting so he says, "He has the _greenest_ green eyes!"

Elder Dude sticks his tongue out at Mr. Lovegood. The little Wracks in the corner blow raspberries too, before dissolving into giggles. Baby Wracks are disgustingly adorable.

" ** _Blue_** eyes," Oldest Mostus says, with great severity, "Now there's something to admire. Albus Dumbledore has blue eyes, that cutie. Ronald Weasley has blue eyes, and that's like, _soooo_ hot, you know?"

He says all this very slowly. He voice sounds like rocks hitting other, bigger rocks.

Greg looks frantically at the two ends of the table, and then licks his elbow. (Greg is very, _very_ flexible, but more on that later.)  
Wrack the Octogenarian looks at Greg consideringly for a long moment. Finally, he says, "Yes, Greg?"

Greg smiles blindingly, all four pink teeth on vivd display. "Thankth!" he lithpth. …he _lisps,_ goddammit Greg.  
"His eyes are the green of the Avada Kedavra, Master of Great Wrinklage," he says, clasping his spindly fingers to his fat chest, like a deranged fangirl. …fanboy? Fanperson? It's hard to tell. The Ye Olde Master looks impressed.

"Ugh, he's going to die in the maze, anyway," mutters Jim. "Why do we care?"  
"Because he's cute!" pipes Hank loyally.  
"The _other_ one is going to die, stupid," Cory whispers. "The one who's gonna be a sparkly vampire."

"Sparkles?" sing the babies hopefully, eyes blue and wide and guileless. Little monsters, the lot of them.  
"Sparkles?" echoes Hank.

Greg elbows him hard, and Hank sinks in on himself sadly.

"Not the _point!_ " Hank whines.

"There's no such thing as sparkly vampires, dumbhead," Greg snipes, ignoring Hank's piteous, swimming eyes.  
"Not like you'd know, you sappy, Potter-loving spaghetti-brain," Jim grumbles.  
"Now, now, Wrackspurt number Four," Mr. Lovegood chides. "No need for such language at the table."

Jim gets up on his chair, turns his back to Mr. Lovegood, flips over the back of his tunic and farts in his general direction. Smells like strawberries and methane. Wrackspurts are so _odd._

Once Jim is settled, and decent, and Greg has screwed his head on straight, Mr. Lovegood sighs. "Well then," he murmurs, "I see how it is."

And he smiles, a slow, half-smile and steeples his long bony fingers together, like Dumbledore always does in Order meetings.

"You- You _dare-!"_ He of the Many Wrinkles splutters, staring agape at Mr. Lovegood's hands, his skin turning blotchy and pale.  
"I dare," Mr. Lovegood agrees, smiling toothily. It's a horrible smile. He learnt it from Mrs. Lovegood, bless her terrifying heart.

Greg whines and hides his face. Cory rubs soothing circles in the table's back. Jim and Hank start bawling, and this makes the Baby Wracks cry with great enthusiasm. It's very loud.

"Whaddaya want, person?" says Old Guy, deflating thoroughly and casting murderous glances at the Bawling Babies of Doom.  
Mr. Lovegood smiles a little harder. "Do you think Harry Potter is cute." It isn't a question, no sir it is _**not**_.  
"Yes, yes, very cute. Very sexy. We will whisper thoughts in his head. Now, _leave_!"

"Thank you, Elder."

"Mr. Lovegoodperson, please." He looks up at Mr. Lovegood gravely, blue eyes flat. "We don't deal in thank you's."

"My apologies."

"No matter. Thank you for coming."

"Wait- what- You _just_ said you didn't deal in thank you's!"

"Of course we don't, good sir. We aren't _callous_ **_fools_** like humans," he hisses, "throwing out Thank You's into the universe all hither and whyfore."  
Mr. Lovegood blinks.  
 _"Wrackspurts_ ," the Elder continues, lips thinning into a fine black line, "are _sensible_ folk. Good **_bye_**."

Mr. Lovegood blinks, and he's back in his living room, waking up from a little nap on the sofa.  
Mrs. Lovegood smiles at him from her armchair by the fireplace.

"What did he say, dear?"

"He will whisper in Harry's head."

"How lovely. Would you like a fresh pot of tea, then?"

"Please. And some of the cheesecake from yesterday?"

"Oh. I'm afraid the Baby Wracks needed a snack, my love. It's all gone by now."

See? Monsters. _Monsters.  
_ Mr. Lovegood **_hates_** baby Wrackspurts. Blasted balls of cute. He's well shot of them all.

* * *

 **A/n:** I literally just strung together a whole bunch of words. What is wrong with my _brain._


End file.
